Coda
by o Mischief Managed
Summary: Companion piece to 'Metronome'. "My gaze drops to the pistol in her hand and my eyes widen as the shock subsides and the pain sets in. I was wrong. I thought I could save her, but I was wrong. I was too late. The Sam I knew is already long gone. …Maybe after everything I've done, this is what I deserve." Another angst-fest! No PP. Mild DS.


Okay, so I wrote this as a direct prequel to my other recent one-shot, Metronome. It's just as angsty and depressing, just in a different way. This one takes place first, but was intended to be read last, so if you haven't read Metronome I recommend you read it first, as I think they're both better that way.

Ready for another random angst-fest? Here we go!

* * *

"The principal called again."

"What is it this time?"

"She says his attendance has fallen below twenty percent over the last few months, and he won't be graduating with the rest of his class. He has to repeat the twelfth grade if he has any hope of getting a degree or into college."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her we'd talk it over with him, but… I can't see it helping. I just don't know how this happened. He used to be such a good kid. And now he's skipping school, failing his classes, getting into fights, staying out at night… I just wish he would talk to us."

"I'm sure he'll come around eventually. All teenagers go through a rebellious phase, don't they?"

"I think this is a little more than a phase, Jack. …Did you call Dr. Martin?"

"I did, but I'm not sure if he can help. You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I'm just… out of ideas. I… I don't know what to do anymore."

"Don't worry, Maddie. No matter what, we're still a family. We'll get through this."

"I hope you're right, Jack. I really, really hope you're right."

Honestly, some part of me wants nothing more than to just go inside and talk to them, to tell them everything and ask them to fix things and make it all better, like they would when I was little. That's what parents are supposed to do, right? But despite that I just _can't_. I know they're worried and afraid and lost because of me – what right do I have to ask them for help? I hate myself for what I've done to them – to everyone. All I want is to make it right, but it's the one thing I have no idea how to do.

So instead I do what I always do – I run and I hide. I avoid every non-ghost-related problem and conflict that's staring me in the face, and I push away anyone and everyone I used to care about. Why? Beats me. After over two years, it's like I can't do anything else. Is something wrong with me? Sure. Can I fix it? Probably not.

With a sigh I shove my hands into my pockets and step away from the outer wall of the house as my parents fall silent inside the open window. I turn and walk aimlessly down the sidewalk, eyes watching the evening sun as it slowly sets behind the lines of buildings and trees that make up Amity Park. Being alone is dangerous anymore, as it forces me to think about all the things I don't want to think about. Like my family, my friends (well… former friends; I guess we don't really talk anymore), school, life in general. It's all kind of a mess – a giant jumble of shards and broken things all mashed together in such a way that I don't know what belongs where. It's like I'm stuck with a hundred different pieces of a hundred different puzzles and no matter how hard I try to fit them together, they just don't click. But maybe it's for the best. After all, if I complete the puzzle, I might not like the image it makes.

I only make it a few blocks before the phone in my pocket starts buzzing loudly. I pull it out, expecting to see the house number, and stop abruptly at the name on the screen. It's Tucker.

With a short, steadying breath I answer the call and hold the phone up to my ear. "Hey," I say evenly.

There's a short pause, before his voice replies, "Hey, Danny. It's me, Tucker." He knows he doesn't need to give his name, and something about it seems sort of… formal. Distant. Forced. …Surprisingly, it actually hurts a bit. "Look, I know you probably don't want to talk to me," he continues, sounding almost nervous. And maybe he is. If his parents found out he was talking to me, well… They wouldn't exactly be happy. "But I'm worried about Sam," he finishes in a quiet voice.

This catches me slightly by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"She wasn't at graduation practice today," he explains, his voice strained. "I called the center, and they haven't seen her all day. Big shocker, they didn't seem to care that much. …But I'm worried. She's been acting strange lately, sort of like she's…given up or something. Somebody should find her and just… make sure she's okay." There's another pause before he adds, "And I… think it should probably be you."

"She won't wanna see me," I argue, kicking the trash can beside me and causing it to skid a few feet toward a nearby alley. "I'd probably just make it worse."

"Come on, Danny," Tucker says carefully. "If you still care about her even a little, just… find her, okay? I've got a bad feeling about this." As much as I want to keep arguing, he's got a point. Part of me is starting to grow inexplicably worried as well.

"Alright, Tuck," I concede with a sigh. "I'll look for her. …Thanks."

"No problem. …See you around, man." With that, he ends the call. I stuff the phone back in my pocket and keep walking, having only one idea as to where Sam could be. Luckily, it's not far, but still, considering the fact that Tucker's 'bad feelings' always had a funny way of coming true, I pick up my speed unconsciously, following the route I used to know so well.

I haven't seen Sam in a while, actually – not since I stopped going to school. The last I remember, she'd been the same as she always had since the accident. Quiet, reserved, alone. Just doing her work and going about her daily life. She was nothing like the lively, outgoing activist she used to be, and I know it was because of what happened that day, what she'd lost. I know she blames me for it. And why shouldn't she? It was my fault, after all. I should've been able to stop it and save everyone. But I didn't. And she suffered for it. And I couldn't face her after that.

But Tucker said she's been acting strange lately. I don't know what that could mean, but by the way he sounded it can't be good. He said she's… given up. Which is _definitely_ not good.

I guess I really do have to find her.

The house is still partially demolished, thanks to the attack that took the lives of Sam's parents and grandmother, not to mention the next two families down the street. The city has been planning to tear down all the remaining walls and rebuild new houses on the land, but for some reason or another it always gets delayed. More important matters, other things to spend the city's money on, more pressing issues for the mayor to deal with, et cetera. But whatever the reasons, part of the house still stands. I don't know why, but something was telling me she'd be here.

"Sam?" I call, stepping over the debris piled across what was once the front doorway. The entrance hall is in ruins, its ceiling open to the dim, evening sky. To the left, I can see what used to be the kitchen, but is now only a jumbled collection of rubble and ash, mixing with the remains of the next house over. To the right, there are still walls standing, and a staircase that leads up into empty air. I step further into the shell of the house and call her name again, hoping for an answer.

Suddenly I hear movement behind me, but before I can react something metal pokes me roughly in the back, freezing me in my tracks. I swallow hard, raising my hands slowly because I know it's unmistakably the barrel of a gun, which probably means I was followed by the police. Again.

"I'm sorry for trespassing," I say evenly. "I'm just looking for a friend."

"Your friend's gone," a low, monotonous voice replies. "There's no one here. Just go."

I feel my eyes widen and my breath catch in my throat – I know that voice. It's different than it used to be, but I could never forget it. "…Sam?" I ask, voice cracking in disbelief.

The pressure of the gun disappears and she sighs, saying again, "Just go, Danny. You don't belong here."

Her voice is so… empty. And the worst part is, I know it's my fault. "Actually…" I argue, staring at the wall, "I do." I can hear movement, so I turn around slowly to see her walking away from me, further into the house. "Sam, hold on a second," I say, following after her.

She goes into the study and walks lazily toward the old, dusty grand piano, dragging her feet through the clutter on the floor. "I'm surprised you know who I am," she says. There's no venom in her voice, only a sort of muted sadness. If anything, I think it hurts more than if she were to yell at me.

"Okay," I admit, looking down and rubbing a hand on the back of my neck. "You're right. I know. You have every reason to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you." She finally turns to look at me and I can feel my throat tighten painfully. In her eyes, there's… nothing. No anger, no sadness, no emotion at all. It's actually sort of frightening, in a horrible, heart-rending way. And all I can think is that Tucker was right. "I didn't hate you after the accident, you know," she goes on in an even voice. "I needed you. And you left me." I lower my eyes and notice she's still holding the gun. Her fingers wander absently across the dark, metallic surface, as though playing with a toy.

"What are you doing with that?" I ask carefully, starting to worry for her even more. I can see the state she's in, and what might be going through her mind. And I don't like it.

A small, mirthless smile crosses her face. "I guess it's too late," she says quietly, a tiny hint of sadness finally entering her voice. She turns toward the piano and her eyes seem to settle on a metronome lying on its side atop the instrument. She reaches out and sets it upright, starting the pendulum and watching it swing lazily back and forth, filling the air with a steady ticking sound. "I lost everyone I loved because of what happened that day."

"What about Tucker and me?" The look on her face is really making me uneasy. I want to do or say something to fix it, but… what? "We're still here."

She shakes her head. "Not to me." She takes a step toward me and her left hand twitches like she wants to reach out, but she seems to change her mind. "Just go, Danny," she repeats softly, for the third time. "You shouldn't be here." With that, she turns and heads for the nearby bathroom door, grip tightening on the gun in her hand.

I feel my stomach tying in knots, knowing what she's intending to do. "Sam, wait a minute—" I try to follow her but she disappears behind the door, closing it tight in my face. I hear the lock click, telling me clearly to stay out. I could easily walk through the door if I wanted to, but something is telling me that probably won't end well. So instead, I sigh heavily and lean my shoulder against the door, wracking my brain for a course of action. I know it's my fault she's turned out like this, and maybe there's nothing I can say to help her.

But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try.

"…I was scared," I finally say in a strained voice when silence ensues on the other side of the door. "I should have been able to stop it, but I couldn't. All those people died… because of me, because I wasn't strong enough to save them. I knew… I thought you must've hated me for what happened. I… couldn't face you." It's hard, thinking back to the disaster that started all of our lives' spinning out of control. I want to explain why I distanced myself from her – from everyone, really. But now when I say it out loud, it just sounds like an excuse. And that only makes me feel worse. "I know there's no point now in saying I'm sorry, but… I am. I hate the way things turned out. I hate that we're not friends anymore, that we don't spend time together like we used to. I wish we could just… end all this and go back to the way things were." I turn and face the bathroom, placing both hands on the doorframe and leaning my forehead against the door. "Please, Sam… I don't know if we can fix this, but… we won't know if we don't try. I want to just put everything behind us, you know? I…" I shut my eyes, hoping with everything I have left that she's listening. "I miss you." I'm surprised by how thick my voice sounds, how much obvious emotion is laced in my words. It's weird to be talking to someone after so long, when all I've been doing is hiding away and locking my thoughts up so tightly they're out of even my own reach. But maybe it's time to let go of all of that and look for another way. For Sam's sake, I know that's something I'm willing to try.

After a long, nearly agonizing silence, I hear the lock click once again. My eyes shoot open and I back away from the door just as the knob turns and it pulls open. Sam stands in the doorway, looking up at me with a small smile. She doesn't look happy exactly, more like… content, accepting maybe. I watch her nervously for a fraction of a second before she steps forward and throws her arms around my neck, wrapping me in a tight embrace. I hesitate momentarily in disbelief before hugging her back, a giddy feeling of relief spreading rapidly through my body.

"I miss you, too," she says in a breathy whisper of a voice. "You're right, it's time we put all this behind us." She pulls away and drops her arms to her sides, a genuine smile on her face.

I can't help but smile back, thinking maybe everything will actually be okay. Sure, it'll take some time, but maybe there's hope after all. Maybe all she needed all this time was someone to talk to her. "You really—?"

The gunshot drowns out the rest of my sentence.

For a second I have no idea what happened. All I can do is stare at her in confusion, wondering why she's still smiling that oddly content smile. Then my gaze drops to the pistol in her hand and my eyes widen as the shock subsides and the pain sets in. I realize I can't breathe, like there's a heavy weight pressing down on my lungs and only releasing tiny puffs of air at a time. I open my mouth, whether to speak or try and breathe easier I don't know, but the only sound that comes out is a sort of weak, strangled gasp. I look down to see dark red liquid soaking slowly into the front of my shirt, and I raise blurry, unfocused eyes to look at Sam in disbelief.

She just smiles and says, "Now we can be together again."

I was wrong. I thought I could save her, but I was wrong. I was too late. The Sam I knew is already long gone, leaving only this sad, empty shell behind. She's already given up, and nothing I can say or do can change that now. I take two staggering steps backward before the strength in my legs gives out and I fall on my back on the cluttered, dusty floor. She strides easily over and kneels down next to me, watching me with those strange, clouded eyes, and I feel a horrible, guilty pain in my heart that has nothing to do with the bullet wound.

"Th-This isn't…" I say haltingly between short, choking breaths, "w-what I…" I feel my throat constrict as blood rises into my mouth, blocking my voice.

"It's okay," she says in a calm, soothing voice, placing a gentle hand on the top of my head and running her fingers through my hair. "This world can't hurt us anymore."

I wish she'd _stop talking_, because everything she says just makes it hurt more. It's my fault – all of this is _my fault_. I made her this way by not being there for her when she needed someone. "I-I did this… to you…" My voice is a strangled whisper, but the words feel like they're screaming in my head.

She gives me a sad smile, and I don't know if she heard me or not. Her hand moves to my shoulder and she says the single worst thing she could possibly say – three short words that stab at my chest like a dagger and make me sad and angry and sorry and guilty and frustrated all at the same time.

"I love you."

It feels like she shot me again. This, more than anything, tells me how wrong I was. I thought she hated me, but all along she never did. All along, I avoided her for no reason at all. She had no one to care for, no one to talk to, no one to be with and no one to love. And the worst part is that it _didn't have to be that way._ If I'd only trusted her, everything could have been okay. But now it's too late.

Black spots creep across my vision as I stare at her, hating the fondness in her gaze. She thinks she's happy. She thinks she's free and that our suffering is over. And maybe she's right. She deserves to be happy, after all, in the end. I just wish it could be _real_ – not this lost, empty, false happiness I see in her now. We could have been happy together. If I hadn't killed her first. …I guess it only makes sense for her to do the same to me now.

I can't speak at all anymore. The short breaths I could force out for a while are gone. My head's dizzy and my eyes are clouded and my body's gone almost completely numb with cold. I can't see her anymore, but maybe I never really could in the first place. Maybe it's been too late for too long, and maybe I just never realized the truth.

Maybe after everything I've done, this is what I deserve.

* * *

Yikes, so despressing. Once again, sorry for killing anyone's mood, heh heh. But these stories have been in my head for quite a while and they begged to be written, so here they are! Man, I need to go write something happy now... haha.

Review please? I don't normally write things that are quite this dark, so I'd love to know what you guys think :)

Flip-side!

-oMM


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